The Other Side
by So Much Tea
Summary: What would happen if Prince Charming and Killian Jones were to swap bodies, mere weeks before his and Emma's wedding? Would they be able to swap back in time? Or would they be forced to call everything off? But most importantly, would they be stuck like that forever? Captain Swan.


**I've had this little idea in my head for a while now! This is only going to be a small multi-chapter fic, probably between 3-5 chapters. I don't want to put an exact number on it because I'd rather it came to a natural end. It's a little bit of fun and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I dedicate it to all those Captain Charming fans out there ;)**

* * *

 **Part One**

* * *

 **Killian**

It was Emma's voice that woke him.

Well, not exactly. It was too soft to wake him, like gentle waves on the sea, but it was the first thing he heard when he drifted into consciousness. Perhaps he was in tune with her. He had thought that more than once on occasion, especially after finding out they were True Love.

He rolled over in bed and spotted her empty side, his hand brushing the cold sheet. It was unlike her to be up and about so early. Usually, he was the first one up, just as light would begin to seep through the curtains. It was a habit he had been unable to kick since all those years he spent captaining the Jolly Roger.

His eyes flew to the bedside clock. 10:00.

 _Bloody hell._ He hadn't even stayed up too late last night.

Emma's musical laughter drifted up the stairs, and he smiled. He wondered who she could be talking to. Perhaps Henry, though he believed the lad to be at Regina's. Unless he'd decided to return home earlier than intended, which he'd done on more than one occasion.

There was only one way to find out.

He threw back the covers and swung his legs around the side. As he made his way into the hall, her laughter came louder, echoing off the walls, ringing through the halls. He heard the distinct, "Killian is still asleep. We were up late last night." A pause. "We went out to Granny's diner. Without you for once?" She laughed again. "I know! Shocker."

She must have been on the phone.

And sure enough, as he sauntered downstairs, he spotted her sat at the kitchen table, the contraption pressed to her ear. She was already dressed in a cream jumper he knew was soft to the touch. Judging by the way her hair curled at the ends, slightly damp, he assumed she'd been in the shower. She smiled at him when she saw him—that wide, dimpled smile that always left him slightly breathless.

 _My mom,_ she mouthed and he nodded. He should have suspected. Since they announced their engagement—the second engagement, that was—her mother had been calling constantly, almost on a daily basis.

Not that Killian could complain. He was glad she'd stopped her spontaneous visits, especially after the pancake incident. There weren't many things that could make the hairs on his arms stand up, but he still shuddered to remember it.

A whistle came from the coffee pot she must have left on the stove. He pointed to it and she nodded enthusiastically. Chuckling to himself, Killian swiped it from the stove and poured it into two mugs on the counter. She must have sensed he was going to get up. That woman was magic.

"Yeah, sure," Emma continued into the phone. "We can do that. Yeah, that's fine." She paused, and Killian could only _just_ make out Snow's babbling from the other end. "So eight, then?"

"That's great. See you then!" She hung up the phone.

"What was that about, love?" He threw her a glance over his shoulder just in time to see her jump up from the kitchen chair and return the phone to the hook. She opened the refrigerator and swiped the milk from the bottom shelf.

"Just my parents," she said as she passed him the carton. "They want to know if we want dinner at Granny's tonight. I know we did it last night too, but hey, free food. They said they'd pay."

He poured a splash of milk in each of the coffees. "I see your priorities are in the right place. And when you say your parents, you mean…"

"Both of them, yes."

"Ah."

She tilted her head the way she always did when she was working him out. "You can't avoid my dad forever."

"I'm not avoiding him."

A shameful lie, and she knew it.

He hadn't been avoiding the prince for long. Right from the start, he'd had a rocky relationship with Emma's father. Of course, Killian couldn't blame him for that. He _did_ almost sail away with the bean, leaving the whole of Storybrooke in jeopardy.

But times had changed since then and David had begun to see him for the man he was. That being said, lately he'd been… well, that was the thing. Killian wasn't exactly sure. Distant, perhaps. Definitely not as friendly as usual. In fact, the last time they were in the same room together, David had hardly uttered a single word to him. He hadn't even looked at him. And on the rare occasion he did, it was with a clenched jaw and a flash of eyes. Killian had tried not to take offence, but he'd thought the impossible: that they were mates.

"Look," Emma began, softly. She grasped him by the arms, turning him gently to face her. She looked up into his face with her soft green eyes. "I know what avoiding people looks like. Trust me, I've done my fair share of it."

Killian averted his eyes. "He's your father, Emma."

"Exactly." She rubbed his arm. "Which is why you've got to sort out whatever's going on between you two. This icy silence, it's not good. Especially _weeks_ before the wedding."

A sigh escaped his lips. He knew she was right—she was always right—but the thought of confronting David made his stomach twist. He knew it was ridiculous. He was _Captain_ _Hook_ , for God's sake. His own name struck fear into the hearts of men, women, and children alike, and yet…

And yet the idea of facing Emma's father had him quaking in his boots. But not without good reason. He _knew_ the reason, and that's what frightened him the most.

Killian Jones had murdered David's father. He had put a sword to his chest and pushed it through until the man's rags ran red with blood. And, the most sickening thing, the thing that kept him awake at night was that it had brought him great pleasure to do so. There was a time when he would revel in a drunken man's death as much as he revelled in a good barrel of rum or a long night at a brothel.

That was, until he'd turned his emotions back on. Until he'd made the choice to _feel_ something for Emma, and suddenly he was unable to stop feeling. He was powerless as the guilt he'd repressed returned full throttle—choking him, destroying him, humanising him.

He was no stranger to the past coming back to haunt him. He'd just simply never imagined it could come back to him like _this,_ not where Emma's family was concerned.

But that was the price he had to pay. The price for all the lives he took.

"You _know_ why he's acting the way he is. He's perfectly entitled to it."

She shook her head, a frown on her lips. "I don't think it's that."

"You don't think it's because I murdered his father?" There was bitterness in his tone, every word etched with self-loathing.

She winced to hear him say it out loud, but her eyes were gentle and loving. Her voice, sincere. "I don't know. But all I know is my father's nothing if not forgiving. And he _will_ forgive you if you talk to him. Tonight."

He met her eyes. "Okay," he sighed. "Okay, I will."

He had to. Not just for her. Not just for _them_ and their future, but for his own sanity as well. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hardly heard her soft, "Maybe then you'll finally forgive yourself."

* * *

The meal was as tense as Killian could have imagined. Once upon a time, David would have sat next to him and spent the majority of the night patting him on the back; but tonight, he sat as far away from him as possible. The only contact Killian received from him were those eyes, which watched him—judging him, hating him.

But no more than Killian hated himself.

The diner was empty apart from a few of the dwarves littered at one table and Zelena at another, speaking softly to a baby Robin. Granny prowled around the room, notebook in hand, glasses sliding down her nose. The Charming Family had chosen a booth and they were in too close quarters for Killian's liking; he could feel the rage coming off David in waves.

Snow and Emma chatted constantly throughout the meal—about the dress, about Emma's hair. They mentioned something called highlights, but Killian had no idea what they were talking about. He would never be able to get a grip with everything in this world, not as long as he lived.

"I was thinking maybe curls?" Snow said. "Or maybe you should have it up? Yes, actually, I think that will go best with those gorgeous cheekbones of yours."

Emma shrugged, though Killian couldn't help but notice the way she blushed under the lights. "I guess we can try a few before the big day and decide what looks best."

"That's the spirit!" Snow beamed. Then she caught sight of David next to her, staring sullenly at his burger, moving his chips around the plate with his fork. "What do you think?"

He didn't say anything for a few seconds, then a yelp left his mouth and Killian had the strong suspicion that Snow had just kicked him under the table. He cleared his throat.

"About—uh—what?"

"Emma's hair." She watched him, unblinkingly, and Killian was glad he wasn't under the intensity of her stare. "What do you think?"

"Yeah it's, uh, beautiful." His lips curled into a smile. "Have you had a haircut?"

"Not for six months," Emma said.

Snow's sigh was loud enough to be heard across the room. " _David."_ A few dwarves from the table next to them jumped. "We were talking about Emma's hair for the wedding. You weren't listening?"

"Of course I was. I like it. Like that. Wavy, like that. Do it like that."

"David, Emma can't _possibly_ wear her hair like that."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"She wears it like that everyday!"

" _And?"_

Snow sighed again and shook her head. She didn't answer him, perhaps deciding that that was not worthy of an answer. She dipped a fry in the sauce on her plate and popped it into her mouth.

David caught Killian's eye as if to say _women, huh_ , but before his smile had a chance to fully form, his expression dropped back into a sullen mask and he ripped his gaze away, back to the dinner he hadn't touched. Coldness washed through Killian. He swallowed and turned back to his own dinner.

What had happened to the man who gave him his blessing to marry Emma?

Emma caught his hand and squeezed softly. When he met her eyes, she gave him a soft smile. Then she turned to David, leaning across the table. "Y'know dad, Killian's already picked out his tux. Haven't you Killian?"

"Aye." He cleared his throat. "Yes, I have."

"I haven't seen it," Emma continued and Killian wondered where she was going with this. "And I kinda don't want to see it until the big day. Would you mind looking at it? Just to make sure there's no black leather." Her eyes danced in amusement.

"Sure, whatever," David said with a shrug, without looking at either of them.

Killian caught the way Emma and Snow exchanged long glances. He expected their feud had been a topic of discussion on more than one occasion.

"Ooo, icy," came an accented voice from the table next to theirs.

Killian glanced over to see Zelena sat at the table, a coffee in front of her, baby Robin on the chair next to her in her carrier cot. He hadn't even realised she was listening into the conversation. Well, the thought hadn't crossed his mind. With the mood he was in today, he was seconds away from yelling in her face.

Upon seeing everyone's eyes on her, she only smiled. "Sorry, but I couldn't help eavesdropping. Well actually I _could_ but I'm bored and you could cut the tension with a knife. Still upset about the captain killing your daddy, Dave?"

Killian didn't miss the way David's hands clenched into fists on the table and the way he looked away from all of them. Killian's stomach twisted again. He hated it.

Zelena smirked. "Better sort that one out before the big day."

"Leave it, Zelena," Emma snapped. "You may be a hero now but that doesn't mean you get to do what you want."

Her smirk only grew wider. "Relax, saviour. I was just having some fun. I'll leave you in peace."

She turned back around to her daugher, murmuring to her, adjusting her blankets with a gentle touch. Robin cooed at the attention.

Killian turned to David. He intended to apologise, to say something, anything, but before he had chance, David stood up, leaving his dinner abandoned. His hands were still fists at his side, his face twisted with barely suppressed rage.

"I need some air."

"David—" Snow tried.

"Dad—"

But he was already gone, whipping out the door. It banged behind him.

"I need to fix this," Killian said.

"Killian—" Emma placed a hand on his arm, but he wrenched it away.

"I _have_ to, Emma."

Then he was up, following David out the door. The night air was cold on his face, a freezing wind tangling his hair and the leaves around him. It was just beginning to snow, cotton wool drops falling down from the blackness.

David was halfway down the street, speeding past houses, lampposts and cars. He seemed to disappear in the blackness, like a ghost. Killian took in a deep breath, knowing he was about to face a lot of demons and followed him.

David might have been fast but Killian was faster. He managed to catch up with him in a matter of strides. David must have sensed someone behind him, but he didn't turn around. He just kept walking, head down, fists swinging by his sides.

"David—" Killian began, but David just ignored him. His shoulders shook, as if the rage was coming out of him in bursts. " _David._ " He grabbed his arm.

David whirled around, wrenching his arm from Killian's grip. For the first time in a long time, his eyes fell on Killian and what he saw in those eyes made his insides plummet even more. It was hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. " _What?"_

Killian swallowed. "Look…"

"Look, _what?_ What are you going to say to me?"

"I—" Words failed him. What _could_ he say? What could he possibly say that would make it better? "I don't know. I just want—I just—"

"Do you know what I want, _Hook_?" He spat out his name, as if it was filth, as if the mere mention of it contaminated him. "I want my father back. But he's gone. Because of you."

 _There it is._

He had imagined David saying those words to him over and over. He had dreamt of it and woken up, covered in sweat, shaking, consumed with guilt. In those dreams, the words were like a blow to the heart and it destroyed him. But _that_ was what he deserved.

He remained standing. Ready to face it. Ready to say what needed to be said.

"I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am."

David's face remained unwavering. "But that's the thing, isn't it? You can be sorry, but it won't change it. It won't change anything."

"It's not who I am anymore."

He clenched his teeth. "I know."

"I made a _mistake_." His voice broke on the last word.

"For most people mistakes are things like spilling coffee on your favourite shirt, or forgetting to take out the dog, or turning up late for a job. No, this wasn't a mistake. This was _so_ much more than a mistake."

Killian swallowed again, his mouth painfully dry. All he could do was listen to David's words, without knowing what to say or how to make it better. He would give _anything_ to go back in time and fix it.

Emma was wrong when she'd said her father would forgive him. And Killian didn't blame him, not one bit.

"The worst—" David began, softly. "The _worst_ part about it is that I hated my father for so many years. I blamed him for being some drunk who couldn't keep it together, even for his family, but I was wrong. He was a good man. He redeemed himself. But then _you_ ruined that and now everyone, apart from me, believes him to be a coward. But he's not. You're the coward."

Through his shame, Killian felt a spark of anger flare inside him. Coward? Killian Jones was many things and had been many things, but he had never been a coward. Yes, maybe he had ran from the truth when he'd boarded Nemo's ship, but he came straight back. Standing here, in front of David, took more than courage. It took everything he had.

"I don't know what else to do." He was surprised to hear the flare of anger he felt inside him reflected in his voice. "What else can I _possibly_ do? I can't bring him back."

"Maybe you should have just gone."

Killian frowned. "Gone?"

"With Nemo."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?" David huffed a laugh but it was humourless.

"I couldn't leave Emma." He took a deep breath. "I will never leave Emma."

David looked at him for a long time. Killian just stared back, not saying anything, trying not to shiver. He didn't know whether it was the snow or David's words that chilled him to the bone.

"What do you want from me, Killian?"

He had thought it had been obvious. "Your forgiveness."

"My forgiveness? Yeah, well. You can't have it."

He winced. He thought that Emma's parents were the most forgiving people to exist. Emma had said herself that there wasn't an unforgiving bone in their bodies. Perhaps she had been wrong. Maybe there were some things even the Charmings couldn't forgive.

But he couldn't live like that.

"I am _not_ that man any more," Killian said.

"It doesn't erase what you did."

He drew in a breath through his nose. "What am I supposed to do? What the bloody hell am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, looking away from Killian, out into the cold. The snow had started to lay. "I don't know. But I need time."

"How much time? Because you don't have long, mate." The wedding was in a matter of weeks. If David hadn't learned to forgive him by then… How could he watch his daughter walk down the aisle with the man who murdered his father?

"I am _not_ your mate."

Killian closed his eyes. He didn't want to beg, but he had little choice. " _Please._ Please, look at it from my perspective." He opened his eyes, fixing him with a broken expression. "I love your daughter. I can't right all the wrongs I've done, but if there's _one_ thing I've got right, it's her. But how am I supposed to marry her, knowing what I did?" _Knowing you can't forgive me._

"I don't know, Hook." He sighed. "I don't want to look at it from your perspective. Quite frankly, I don't even want to look at you. Like I said, I need time." He turned and started making his way down the path. Killian tried to follow but he had hardly taken a footstep before David said, "Don't bother."

He was left to stare after David in the snow, heart heavy in his chest.

* * *

Killian didn't bother going back to Granny's. He couldn't look upon Emma's face, knowing he had failed her. Instead, he made his way back up his path, up to his and Emma's home, trailing slush behind him.

The first thing he did was pour himself a glass of rum. When he'd taken a few sips and began to feel warm again, he removed his wet coat and boots and settled onto the sofa. He was still there when Emma turned up, half an hour later. A rush of cold air and the howling of the wind followed her inside the house.

"Hey," she said, removing her own coat and boots. Her ponytail was dusted with snow.

He looked down into his glass, not knowing what to say. The truth seemed like a good idea. "I couldn't come back, I'm sorry."

She approached him, feet hardly making a sound on the floor. "Hey, it's okay. We assumed that when you guys didn't come back things were either really good… or really bad."

He squeezed the glass in his hand. "The latter."

"I'm sorry."

He looked up at her. "Are you angry with me?"

She watched his face for a moment, hands on hips, and then a sigh escaped her lips. "No, Killian. I'm not angry." She circled around him, around to her side of the sofa and fell onto it. The sofa creaked as she pulled her feet underneath her legs, body shifting so it was turned towards him. "You've done all you could do. The ball's in his court, now."

"He will never forgive me," he said, embarrassed by how small his voice sounded.

Her own voice was soft when she said, "I don't think that's true."

"I just want to be a good man for you."

Her eyes were on his, wide and earnest. "You _are_ a good man. What you did—it doesn't define you. It's where you go from here."

"And if he doesn't forgive me?"

There was a silence.

Eventually, she said, "He will _._ "

"Humour me."

They looked at each other. Then, softly, "It doesn't matter. I'm marrying the man I know. Whether he's there or not."

His chest tightened a little, but enough to notice. He took a deep breath and nodded once. Was it selfish of him to hope she'd give that answer?

"I love you," she said.

Then he felt her brush his hair back the way she always did, just at the nape of his neck. Ice fingertips touched the back of his neck and he jumped away from her. "Bloody hell, Emma. Your hands are cold."

She smiled. "Whoops, sorry."

Then he smiled back and suddenly they were smiling at each other—softly, gently. She took the glass of rum from his hand and placed it on the coffee table. "Come on, let's go to bed." Then she reached out and grasped his hand in hers. Her hand was still cold, but it wasn't quite as shocking.

She stood, still holding onto his hand, and he rose after her, keeping his eyes locked on hers. Despite the night, he felt a flicker of warmth within him. He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it softly, eyes still on hers. They made their way up the stairs together.

* * *

The next day, Killian's head was pounding so much, he could hardly open his eyes. The piercing pain in his skull made it almost impossible to focus on anything else. The pain travelled down his neck, and a wave of nausea washed over him. _Please don't let me throw up,_ he thought. He thought he'd had a strong stomach, after years of riding the waves and being immune to sea sickness.

Not to mention, he hadn't even had a full glass of rum last night. He'd left it abandoned on the table to go to bed with Emma. He hadn't even drunk rum at the meal; the Charmings had bought a bottle of wine for the table.

The nausea passed, but there was still that blinding pain in his skull. He reached out to Emma's side, to feel cold sheets beneath his fingertips. _Damn it._ She must have gotten up before him again. He was hoping she could fetch him some of that wonderful medicine that made pain disappear in a heartbeat.

He buried his head in the pillow. He'd just have to let it pass.

And sure enough, it did.

When the pain had dulled to an ache, he managed to open his eyes. But the sight made him wonder whether that headache had made him delusional. The walls weren't smooth anymore, but made of bricks. Unless Emma had decided to do some renovating while he slept, he couldn't imagine why.

A soft breeze came from above him. He glanced up, past the headboard of a bed that certainly _wasn't_ his and to an open window. White, flimsy curtains drifted in a light breeze. They were like princess curtains, not the ones that blocked out light in his and Emma's room.

The first thing that came into his mind was the unimaginable.

 _I've slept with someone else._

Then he had to stop himself from laughing. _How?_ Surely he wouldn't. Surely he wouldn't have betrayed Emma like that. But he couldn't think of one possible reason he would have—he wasn't unhappy in his relationship, they were due to get _married_ for God's sake—but there wasn't any other explanation.

Mouth dry, stomach sick, he pulled himself up. The sheets were a baby pink colour. That's when he realiZed where he was. Emma's parents' apartment.

 _Oh God._ He had… he had…

He _hadn't._

 _No he hadn't._

Perhaps he had woken up in the middle of the night and had walked to the apartment while still asleep. He had never experienced sleepwalking before, but he knew of fellow sailors who often roamed the night and to have full encounters and conversations with other people, only to remember nothing the next day. And surely, if he had been sleepwalking, there wasn't anyway her parents would let him walk home alone in that state, especially not her mother.

Yes, that was it.

He ran a hand through his hair, his other hand—

His other _what?_ Killian pulled his arms out in front of him. Two hands. He had two hands. How did he have two hands?

It sounded mad, but they weren't his hands. His fingers were shorter, his skin a slightly different tone.

The bathroom door creaked open. Killian's gaze, wide-eyed and terrified, flew to the door. Mary Margaret stepped out into the apartment, a bundle of pyjamas in her arms, humming to herself. She glanced over at him absently, and smiled.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Killian cleared his throat. He did the only thing he could do. "Morning." His hand flew up to his throat. That voice… it wasn't his voice. It was— it was—

Mar Margaret crossed the room and bent down to shove the bundle of clothes into the washing machine. "I'm putting a wash on if you have any clothes you want to be washed. I can wait a bit if you want to go in the shower—just put them in when you're done." She rose again, rolling her eyes. "Just turn the washing machine on. Don't forget this time, okay?" She made her way over to the kitchen counter and grabbed two mugs. "I was going to put on coffee. Do you want one?"

Silence. Killian was too busy watching her, his eyes still that wide-eyed stare.

She looked up at him. "David, I said do you want one?"

It took everything in Killian not to scream.


End file.
